


2D

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not what you'd expect from the lads in 1D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2D

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, intended for entertainment purposes only. I do not mean to offend or insult anyone. No characters, real or based off real people, belong to me. I am not making money off my work.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.

A knock came on the door, and he straightened out his back, eyes unseeing, then shook his head and blinked, as if coming out of a trance. The knock repeated as he was getting up from his chair to go open the door.

“What do you need?”

“Your laundry room key.”

He chuckled:

“God, Louis, why are you doing laundry at this time a night? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go out?”

“I am! That’s why I need to do laundry. There’s a shirt that I want to wear tonight.”

“Not the same shirt you wore last week? ‘Cause – that’d be so gauche!”

“Yeah, but I’m going to a different club this time. They wouldn’t know.”

“And with a different guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay… well, don’t put it in the dryer for too long if you're going to need me to iron it.” - Harry shook his head, chuckling, and went to look for his key, leaving Louis standing by the front door. 

 

 

He really enjoyed living there. It was a cute quiet apartment complex with low-key working professionals, and after a young couple had moved out, he had no neighbours upstairs for almost a year. He was, frankly, blindsided, when that suddenly changed.

It happened almost exactly as it did just now. A knock came on the door and a late-twenties lad, small, slender, with messy straight hair and pale blue eyes smiled at him an innocent smile. 

“Hi, I’m Louis” – he said, - “Your new neighbour upstairs in 3D. I moved in just two days ago…”

‘Strange’ – Harry thought. He didn’t remember hearing anyone move or hearing anyone walking upstairs, but then again, it was entirely possible that someone could accomplish the move during the day, when Harry was at work, and as for the latter part – well, did he ever notice *anything* when he came home?

“…Anyway” – the lad continued meanwhile, - “I was drying a towel on my balcony and the wind blew it down onto yours. I’ll just go and get it?”

Harry didn’t even say anything yet, he was still processing the new information, and it was sometimes very difficult for him to disassociate completely from the whatever parallel dimension he was vacationing in at that moment and to transition back into reality, but he had instinctively stepped back and Louis instantly squeezed past him, marched through his living room, opened the balcony door and went to retrieve his stuff. Harry just watched him. 

When left to his own devices, Harry was always so inextricably entangled with his internal worlds, that it caused him to have a rather slow response to real world stimuli. However, Louis didn’t seem to notice it, though, just as much as he didn’t seem to have any manners, as he started leisurely looking around Harry’s flat. His eyes fell onto Harry’s giant work table – which really was just a big ole dining table, which he’d covered in sketchbooks, random papers, and pens.

“You draw comics?” – Louis’ eyebrows went up, - “For work?”

“Not exactly” – Harry responded mechanically, still standing puzzled by the open front door, - “I work in web design, but I do draw for one Sunday paper.”

“It’s a hobby then?” – Louis continued, eyeing heaps of drawing pads, - “No way all that goes into one column” – He made a motion to open one of the notebooks.

“It’s…” – Harry made a frantic leap towards him, but he was way too late to prevent him from intruding into one of his compilations. So he just stood there frozen, one meter short of a stranger who’d just carelessly barged into one of his most private worlds. He felt ready to slap him.

“Hm…” – Louis shook his head finally, closing the sketchbook, and, not noticing Harry’s distress, started walking back towards the front door. But then he suddenly stopped and muttered, not looking:

“Yeah. You’re lucky that you can do that. Some people write stories, some people draw. I can’t do either, so I just carry it all… right here” – He tapped his head with his finger, then smiled awkwardly and was gone. 

And Harry just stood there, paralyzed. 

He wasn’t sure if he was horrified or amazed or he’d only imagined what had transpired just then. He’d gone on for a lifetime without ever trying to explain his comic book thing to another soul, having no hope to ever be understood, and just like that, in a matter of less than a minute, a rude, ill-mannered young man, had not only “got it” but seemed to have validated it, too…

It seemed both impossible and far too much to process at once, so Harry just shook his head, closed the door, and went back to sketching. 

It all started when he became old enough to understand just how badly he was being neglected. He never talked much as a toddler, but around the time - oh, maybe when he was in preschool, - he’d stopped talking completely, and, day in and day out, he stayed curled up and concealed in the corner in his room, vision swimming with tears, as he surrounded himself with blank sheets of paper – and drew. Nobody cared to check on him, sometimes for days, so he could sit there for hours at a time – and draw – whatever he wanted, and be – whatever he wanted – with the only downside that it was in 2D. Things have changed over time, though, of course, he grew up and left his parents’ dysfunctional home - and he managed to get over it, mostly – but not the drawing thing – that followed him for years…

In any case, as far as it concerned his new neighbour, Harry hardly expected anything besides a few of the usual new tenant things – like borrowing a hammer or a screwdriver, asking when the management was going to turn on the heat, and, when he was finally all settled in, him coming over with an apple pie to thank Harry for all the help, and, just like that, softly vanishing out of his life. 

Only that didn’t happen. Louis didn’t come over with a pie, instead, he came over to complain that his stove didn’t work, and, in no uncertain terms, tell Harry to make him some food. 

And Harry did it, too. He was used to just doing what other people told him, and not because of any weakness of character, but because going with the flow was much easier than going against it and he’d given up hope to change anything around him long, long time ago…. perhaps just when he’d started drawing those comics.

So that’s kind of how it went. Normally, he’d be incredibly annoyed at having anyone over – even the few interactions at work seemed to wear him out, but somehow, Louis had slowly become a rather welcome distraction. He was an odd character – boisterous, eccentric, loud and funny, all the while brutally honest, pushy and somewhat obnoxious, but his genuine interest in Harry, his overwhelming generosity and kindness, the way he felt no embarrassment to walk down those stairs at any hour of the day to knock on his door just to chat, vent or ramble, the way he either did not notice or did not care about Harry’s very obvious social awkwardness – all that was as disarming as could be. 

It was hardly a friendship, what they had, and if it was – it was a very unusual one. They never went out together – to the movies or to grab lunch, but Louis came down to his flat at least once a week, sometimes to borrow something or to ask to take him to the grocery store – or with a couple bottles of beer or a pack of Trader Joe’s cupcakes, and they’d chat or have food, but they didn’t hang out with each other’s friends (well, Harry hardly had any), didn’t have each other added on facebook, didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers – they were just what they were – two neighbours, 2D and 3D. 

They’d gotten to know each other slowly, over a period of weeks, as Louis would show up at his door step with one of his many ridiculous problems or excuses – and end up sitting on his kitchen counter, eating his food or in a lounge chair on his balcony, sipping a beer – and it was funny, because Harry’d never cared to cook before he got this new neighbour – not for himself, he didn’t care about his diet – so he really was quite surprised that he still actually knew how to. 

They talked a lot about work – slowly, Harry became more and more comfortable to just share his thoughts and ideas, things about his coworkers that annoyed him to no end – and Louis would tell him about his school – he was doing a third master’s degree – this one in criminal justice – his first two being physics and social work. Harry’d chuckled at that when Louis first told him, but he very soon discovered that this very part of his neighbour’s life was just as illustrative of who Louis was, as Harry’s comics had been of him. 

He’d realised that almost by accident, one day, when Louis was sitting on his kitchen counter as per usual, Harry had asked him what kind of ice cream he would like to have for dessert. Louis had kept looking between the two Brewer’s tubs like the proverbial donkey until Harry told him that it was going to melt and decided they would just have pudding instead. Not to mention how he had to get used to, just about every weekend night, his neighbour coming down to his flat, several t-shirts in hand, to ask him which one he should wear to this or that club - Harry didn’t care, of course, he thought that Louis would look good in any of them, but - he enjoyed being asked. 

But there was the other side to it too, the side that was much, much less pleasant. As they were neighbours, Harry had no choice but to witness him coming home from all those clubs - oh, he didn’t just sit there waiting – although well, maybe he did, - but he was also just frequently sketching well into the night – and so he’d hear him coming up the stairs, always a different male date in tow – and he *knew* that, because sometimes, they’d drive in and park in Louis’ spot and then Harry had to observe the car there in the morning. And he’d very rarely see it there again. 

So before he really noticed it, he began turning the music on just a little louder on Friday and Saturday nights as he tried to immerse himself in his imaginary worlds as deep as he could – drawing them out in 2D on paper – because there were things he’d just rather not know. And coincidentally, right about this time, he’d started hiding his sketchbooks away, far, far from his neighbour’s curious eyes…

 

 

 

The rain had started outside and Harry lifted his head again, in half-trance, listening to it shuffle through the autumn foliage. It’d barely registered with him that his neighbour did not come back to return his laundry room key, but that hardly mattered – Louis would be there soon enough during the week. He wondered, with some kind of a shy, subconscious thought, where Louis was headed tonight and with whom, but he never, ever would have thought to ask him if he could join – and not just because he was aware of his own social awkwardness, but there was something about it, something about watching his neighbour dance with all these random guys, that bothered Harry enough to not even think of tagging along…

The knock came on his door again.

He raised his brows momentarily, but got up to go and get it, and it was Louis of course, but he was not wearing the shirt – the one Harry thought he was talking about – because it was Harry who had selected it for him just last Saturday night – in fact, Louis was dressed the same as he was when he came over some two hours earlier.

“What’s going on?” – Harry asked, taking in his affect.

“It’s raining” – Louis answered curtly, squeezing past him as per his habit and arresting dazedly in the middle of his living room.

“You need me to drive you to the metro?” – Harry guessed, instinctively looking around for his keys.

“No.”

Louis was looking lost. He stood in Harry’s living room with a half-blank, half-surprised facial expression, as if he’d arrived to his neighbour’s flat on autopilot and was only beginning to understand where he was. 

“Aren’t you going out?”

Louis turned to him, eyes unreadable:

“I don’t know.”

“Wouldn’t the guy be waiting for you? Your… your… friend?”

Louis shrugged, turning away.

“Well, did he text you? Is he going...?”

“Yeah.”

“So…?” – Harry eyed him, still unsure of what to make of his neighbour’s demeanour. 

Louis stood there for a few more moments, staring into nothing, then muttered:

“I don’t want to.”

“What?”

Louis turned to him with a sudden resolve. The glassiness in his eyes had all but vanished and their blue tint was piercing and clear:

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to. I’m tired of it. I just *don’t want*.”

“…’kay” – Harry stared at him, unsure, what, if anything, he was supposed to say or do, and he’d probably start feeling uncomfortable very, very soon, if just then, Louis didn’t step closer to him with some kind of a fervour in his blue eyes and ask:

“Can you draw me a comic?”

“What?” – Harry almost physically took a step back.

“Draw me a comic. You draw them for yourself all the time, no? Can’t you draw *me* one as well?”

Harry searched his neighbour's face for an explanation, his smoldering, feverish eyes, but not finding what he was looking for, Harry instinctively moved to do what he did best:

“Sure” – He said, cautiously proceeding to his work table, sitting down and opening a notebook to a clean page. Louis followed suit and positioned himself right on top of the table, barely bothering to scoot Harry's sketchbooks away. Harry could feel Louis' stare glued to his face.

“Alright” – He said then, picking up a pencil, - “What would you like me to do?”

He looked up at his neighbour and was once again dumbstruck, because Louis' face was as serious and decided as never before, and his eyes had turned almost green with an odd iridescent glow.

“I don’t know” – Louis replied in a gravelly whisper, leaning over the paper, but not taking his eyes off his neighbour’s face, - “I think I’ll let you decide on that one for me. I think I can trust you with that.”

“Whh…” – Harry shrugged, also unable to look away, but before he could ask anything else, Louis added pointedly:

“Do whatever you want.”

And Harry just stared at him for a few more moments, before, slowly, he put down his pencil, and, raising his hand instead, fingers black from ink and graphite, touched Louis’ cheek, sliding his hand along the line of his jaw until he could grab him by the back of the neck and bring him in… and during those few short seconds that he had his own lips on his neighbour’s, the lines between 2D and 3D worlds, for the first time, were blurred… 

When they disconnected, Harry searched his neighbour’s eyes once again, and what he found in them, had prompted him to bring him in closer again, but with a lot more resolve and intention this time, grabbing him desperately by the waist, so much so, that as he pulled him over to himself on the table, several of his sketchbooks fell off of it onto the floor, but they were far, far away from Harry’s thoughts at that time because something had told him, something had whispered it in his ear ever so softly - that maybe, just maybe - he wouldn’t need those sketchbooks ever again…


End file.
